42 years with these ‘paramedics of prayer’
WITH this entry, I’m starting my column here in TheDiarist.ph, collections of random thoughts that will allow me to bring together a range of observations in one go. My boss Thelma San Juan was asking me what title I wanted to use, and I ended up with “Decompression Stops.” For an avid scuba-diver, the title holds multiple meanings. Decompressing actually means stopping for a few minutes on the way up after a dive, to give the nitrogen gas time to leave your system; it’s not a good idea to bring the nitrogen up with you, as that’s the stuff accidents are made of. That’s why a decompression stop is also called a safety stop.
The benefits of decompression (Photo by Dodong Uy, Camiguin)
For my friends and I, however, decompression has also come to mean the first dive on a dive trip or vacation, your first dip in the water after weeks of stress and everyday concerns. I usually find myself just floating, staring at the color and beauty in front of me with an empty mind, and physically feeling the sharp edges of existence soften. The sea can do that to you; scuba-diving can give that to you.
The author diving at the Gingoog Pier, Misamis Oriental (Photo by Yvette Lee)
I’ve been diving for some 30 years now, and it hasn’t changed. Well, I’m turning 62 this year and can no longer carry my tank without some help, but the physical and psychological weight disappears each time I hit the water—which is why it remains so liberating.
The author posing with corals in Tubbataha (Photo by Yvette Lee)
You really should try it some time, if you haven’t. And yes, all kinds of thoughts run through my head on a decompression stop.
The Cenacle Sisters celebrate 200 years of healing the broken. (Photo by Wig Tysmans)
Some 42 years ago, when I was in college as a psychology sophomore at the Ateneo de Manila, a couple of classmates invited me to an hour-long prayer break between morning classes, led by a nun, Meny Vera Cruz of the Religious of the Cenacle. I hadn’t heard of the order before then, and didn’t realize how those meetings would change my life. The sessions were a lifesaver at a time of much personal upheaval and grief in the aftermath of losing my father.
The author with long-time spiritual director and friend Sr. Meny Very Cruz
The sessions ended when Sr. Meny was reassigned to Legazpi in the Bicol Province. I tried visiting their retreat house in Loyola Heights a couple more times for counseling, and even managed to attend a Holy Week retreat. After all, the Cenacle Sisters have as their primary mission “to provide spaces and programs for spiritual growth, prayer, and Ignatian retreats, aimed at fostering a deeper relationship with God.”
The Cenacle Sisters are an international congregation of Catholic women religious founded in France by Fr. Stephen Terme and Sister Thérèse Couderc. The mission is aptly called “companioning”—that is, they accompany you on your spiritual journey, no matter what point you are at. They are in key locations in the Philippines (Quezon City and Cebu), Singapore, North America (Chicago, Illinois), and in several other cities. Incidentally, the Cenacle, in the Bible, is where the disciples gathered, most notably when the Holy Spirit came down upon them.
Sr. Bubbles Bandojo holds a piece of broken pottery for the ‘kintsugi’ ritual.
I reconnected with Sr. Meny after she got back from Bicol, and have since been making regular visits, taking annual retreats, and attending the particularly beautiful Christmas and Easter Eve masses every year. In the Cenacle, you do the work; the nuns guide you with scripture, selected readings, and any kind of structure you may require. After my engagement fell apart in the early 1990s, I remember spending three days at the Cenacle just to cry in peace, with no one stopping me. I also went on what seemed like a daunting week-long silent Ignatian retreat; by day 5, however, I didn’t want it to end. When I fought breast cancer in 2013, Sr. Meny was assigned to Rome, but passed me on to Sr. Bubbles Bandojo, who held me tightly through that difficult period. There’s much to be said for dedicating time to prayer and reconnecting with the God you know is always there—but like I always tell these ladies, they are the most outstanding representations of God in many a life.
It doesn’t hurt that the retreat house is a quiet, expansive place with lovely little corners, my favorite tree that has been in that garden through decades of changing seasons, and, as they say, “simple but hearty food.” Even the vibe of the place is already an invitation to slow down and be particularly attentive to the voice of God.
Fr. Arnel Aquino, SJ presides over the mass. (Photo by Wig Tysmans)
That’s why many of us “friends of the Cenacle” just had to be there when the nuns marked their 200th anniversary, two centuries since Sr. Therese Couderc became a nun. It was celebrated with a mass and merienda, and the mass celebrant, Fr. Arnel Aquino, SJ (the Cenacle sisters have a close relationship with the order of priests across the street) perfectly described how there was always a Cenacle Sister to “paramedic us through long, existential depths of prayer,” and how, even as broken guides and human beings themselves, they still managed to “integrate their brokenness into their wholeness.”
Becoming whole again: the broken jar with pieces symbolically put together
The celebration revolved around the theme of kintsugi, the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with enamel and gold, adding beauty to flaws. It was a fitting theme for these women who do wonders mending the broken and making us even better than new with the grace of God. In a lovely ritual, a number of nuns actually brought pieces of broken pottery together to recreate a whole piece, and Sr. Cecile Tuble painted the cracks in gold.
Some of the sisters I have met years ago have passed away, and many are ageing before my eyes. A few years ago, Sr. Meny marked her 50th year as a nun, always a milestone event for them. Imagine 50 years of your life spent helping put broken people together, without censure, without judgement. Like I said, wise, occasionally wacky, but always loving angels on earth.
Screenshot of Yaya Dang seeing her birth certificate for the first time
Speaking of angels, I have a story for you. My house angel and dear kasambahay Dang, my late mother’s yaya who stayed on with me and now takes care of my four furbabies, was one of millions of Filipinos born in a house amidst the rice fields of Samar to a farming family. She was delivered by a midwife, and in the boondocks, unless you give them money, the comadrona does not bother to have your birth registered. Thus, for the last 59 years, Dang has had no birth certificate. I tried asking around, and the requirements were daunting, including affidavits from people from her province who could attest to her birth.
It takes patience and the understanding of someone who can comprehend the ins and outs of red tape in the Philippines to handle this, and her second son, Ronnel, took on the challenge. As he posted on Facebook, he started in 2024, writing to provincial outposts who took forever to write back, going back and forth between offices here in our city of Marikina who kept referring him somewhere else. In one case, after being told to wait six months, Ronnel returned—only to be told the paper was received by a trainee/reliever who failed to forward it, pushing the wait to another six months. Good thing he has the patience of Job, as I would have demanded the reliever’s name.
He did ask why they didn’t just let him know when they had all his phone numbers, and he could have carried the papers back and forth himself. All he got was that sheepish, not-quite-apologetic smile of a government employee for whom mediocrity has become the norm—yes, even here in Marikina, a city I am generally proud of, but which failed my yaya miserably. Thus, when Dang finally got her birth certificate at age 59, the occasion merited some ice cream from Ronnel and a video record of Dang finally looking at her precious document. In Dang’s words, “Hindi na ako singaw lang” (I’m not just steam from the earth).
Tao ka na, Danggets. Congratulations!
